Free Candy
by Helianthus8844
Summary: Before Crookshanks attacked Ron and landed in Hermione's arms, he'd spent his life in a petshop in Daigon Alley. Or had he? A look into Crookshank's life somewhere in south-east Asia before a witch or wizard spied him and flew him off to the shop to help improve his lot in life.Please read and review!


He winced as a shower of pebbles shot out and missed him by inches. Jeers erupted from across the street as the group of children made faces at him. He bit back a sharp retort; he couldn't out-match them, not in a game of verbal abuse. He had learnt that by experience in his short life. Instead, he retreated few steps, keeping an eye on them, then before they could do more than shout in vexation, disappeared down the alley.

He slunk down the side of the narrow path, keeping himself in the shadows. The stench made him pucker his lips in distaste, burning his nose, but he pushed his way in, trying to make through the heaps of filth. Shudders ran down his length every time he felt one foot or the other touch the pooling overflows of the sewerage system, the water green and grey and flecked with floating muck. Few noticed him, blending into the background as he did, and those who did averted their eyes, covered in oozing sore as he was. Except for the children; they were the cruelest.

He laughed under his breath. Fools; blind fools. To harbor these horrors of nature in their homes and to pretend to love them! For he had no doubt it was only an act—no man in his right mind could truly love these tyrants, though they may be his offspring, until they were tamed with age.

In the midst of his thoughts, he spied a man walking out of an eatery by the roadside, carrying a large pan at arm's length, and stiffened. He watched him flip it upside down upon an already large hill of garbage, pieces of meat tumbling out to meet the filth. Even at a distance he could smell the festering food and guessed that it had been left out for too long. Even as he turned up his nose, his mouth watered and his stomach rumbled. As fast as he could, he bolted towards what could be his first meal in days.

Without warning, a stick descended on his back. He shrieked, jumping back, ready to bite and claw his way to food, any food, but his mouth turned dry as he looked at the group in front of him. There were not as many as those outside the alley, but these were older, stronger, and most of them brandished long sticks that whipped through the air with a fearsome crack. The largest was groping on the ground for a suitable fragment of brick among the ones scattered around, keeping an eye on him. He fancied he could see his heart fluttering through his thin chest, and believed he would aim for it if he could. Terrified, he turned tail.

With a whoop and a cheer, his doom followed, but he had wings on her feet; the feet of prey before her hunters.

He skid around the corner sliding part of the way. When he stood on his feet again, the sores on his side had been scratched raw by the asphalt and he was covered in blood and pus. Not waiting to throw even a quick glance behind him, he streaked off like lightning again.

Several streets away he finally paused beneath a window to catch his breath. The air rattled through his ribcage in painful bursts. His heart had almost slowed down to normal, when he stiffened.

The smell of cooking food reached him, tickling his nostrils. Before he had time to figure out where the aroma came from, he heard a clink of metal against the wall overhead and shot out of his place .Just in time too; a cascade of foam frothed water landed just where he had been moments before, the starchy water from the cooked rice of the kitchen above that point. He hissed, in anger and in frustration, at his lot in life. Then like one built for survival, he sped away.

It was late in the day when he came upon a patch of the last rays of sunshine on a low wall. Basking in his first comfort of the entire day, he surveyed the world around him through narrowed eyes. His glance fell on a trolley on a patch of grass in the middle of the garden inside the wall. A happy gurgling issued from inside. He guessed a baby lay there. Malice rose in him like bile. He waited until the trolley was unattended for a short window of time, then, quick as an arrow, ran to look.

The baby looked at him with hostility that slowly built up to anger. He could tell that the lollipop thee toddler was sucking would delay its cry. He waited, just out of reach of the growling creature, his lips curling in a smile to chill the hearts of his foes.

The child's mother rushed out when moments later the baby let out earsplitting cries of rage and helplessness. She picked up her tiny bundle of joy, throwing looks around her like spears of wrath, to pinpoint the source of discomfort. To her surprise, she saw a mangy sore-ridden cat with a curiously flat face and patches of filthy orange fur observing her. Even as she watched, it licked a lollipop held between its paws. She would later swear the cat had been leering at her baby as it yawned and arched its back in a stretch, then with a flick of its tail it disappeared, candy in mouth.


End file.
